Learning from History
by Magick
Summary: Fitting indeed, the tainted and warped covering for something that aught to have been beautiful." Thinking back to where it all began. Sweeney/Lovett
1. Falling Backwards

There was something to be said for giving up

Hello ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to my first foray into the wonderful world of Sweeney Todd! This fandom is just so beautiful, and I have read some really amazing fics here on ff.n. Suggested mood music for this chapter would be "This Time Imperfect" by AFI.

This story was written with a few minor alterations to canon-

-The old beggar woman was simply an old beggar woman. Not Lucy.

-Toby does not know what goes into the pies.

-Obviously, both Mrs Lovett and Sweeney Todd survive

Simple enough? And for those of you that are going to ask why their speech isn't in phonetics (as in, written with accent) I'm going to freely admit that I tried, and it sounded more like a Scotsman with a nasal cold. Very bad.

**This is dedicated to the charming Mrs Lovett on the '**_**Bleeding Rubies' **_**rpg- check it out!**

Disclaimer- I do not own Sweeney Todd or any of the characters in this story. I am not making a profit from this.

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There was something to be said for giving up. Sweeney Todd sank into the threadbare cushions of Mrs Lovett's worn out old couch, feeling the edges of the springs sticking up through the pillows that had seen much, much better days. Even with the fire crackling in the grate, it only served as a foil, outlining the decay that had nibbled at the edges of what could have been a nice, room- of what had been a nice room, once. Now it was plastered over with oddly printed, charred grayish wallpaper from a church gone up in flames.

It was almost a fitting backdrop, though he had never asked why she had covered over the lovely robin's egg blue that he suspected was still underneath it. Fitting indeed, the tainted and warped covering for something that aught to have been beautiful. It was always dim in this room, shadowy black corners to mimick the blank nothingness that ate away at the tattered edges of his humanity. No money, no desire to light the lamps that could actually liven the place up. Or perhaps it was already too late to be salvaged.

Over the mantle there were framed photos, the sepia and black and white shades faded and blurred by dust. Most of them were of people he didn't know, didn't remember; people who had as much impact on his life after their deaths, as they had during. He didn't know their names, but long hours sitting here silently before the fire had made their faces familiar. All save Mr Alber Lovett, whos photo was third from the middle.

That face he knew, that man he had known- and that photo which he tendered with as much dear loathing as he had love for the bifold frame holding his dear Lucy, and his darling girl. He often thought that Mr Lovett had escaped far too easily, succumbing to smallpox- or some other disease. He had not suffered long, and that was a source of great annoyance for the barber; Sweeney Todd believed that he could have done a much more satisfactory job with his own two hands. Still, the man was dead- and he supposed he would have to be content with that.

But there the picture sat upon the mantle, a place of pride on a shelf that had none of his own visage. Strange, he thought, how such a small thing could cause such a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest. Not that he wanted to have his picture taken- of course not. Frivolous and silly at best; dangerous and telling at worse- and yet, there was part of him that wanted to be there. To have a place upon that shelf, to have it known that he had once been a part of her life. That he had existed here as more then a shadow; though he could never decide if it was Benjamin or himself that deserved the frame. They could not both exist there.

The rug was worn to a tattered shred, not shielding his feet in the slightest from the cold, scarred hardwood below it. But he barely noticed the slight discomfort as he reached the mantle, tipping the picture of Albert to the shelf, hiding the image from sight. For a moment he stared at the back of the frame, the little wooden support that had held it upright, now jutting uselessly into the air. The gap in the row of pictures, like a missing tooth in a smile. An absence that clearly said, 'Something should be here, but it is not.'

The dim parlour was as familiar to him as his own home, and he blindly took the two steps backwards, feeling the hard edge of the couch against the back of his legs. The firelight threw shadows on the walls, reminding him unnervingly of the inside of a coffin. A grave, buried in hallowed ground- a luxury of civilized life that he had denied his customers. Trusting men who had bared their throats for a complete stranger with a knife. Little lambs, totally ignorant to the death toll that had begun to chime as they walked in the door- audible only to the barber himself.

The wavering tongues of light began to fade and melt in his minds eye, drifting away into that thoughtful place that is not quite awake, and yet not quite asleep. For Sweeney Todd it was not always a pleasant place, a mental palace filled with pitfalls and traps, forged indelibly from his own memories- actions searing them into place. For even his own mind was no longer a safe place; the wriggling, withered remains of his humanity screaming for him to stop the acts that had surely already damned his immortal soul. But Sweeney Todd did not fear Hell, nor any of it's deathly facets. Not when his own mind supplied a hundred thousand more ingenious torments. And as the flickering edges melted and ran together like hot wax, he let his mind wander.

…

It had been a long winter, the cold dampness lasting deep into the first weeks of April. It was the winter that Nellie had turned eighteen; the girl whos plaited hair he had pulled as a child; and who at the age of eight, he had decided he would marry when he was old enough. It was also that same winter that he had finished his tonsorial apprenticeship, labelling him a man of skill. A man of his own means, with a trade he could use. At nearly nineteen years old, things in the life of Benjamin Barker were coming together beautifully.

And despite the cold, April showers did give way to May flowers, and with them the city of London became beautiful again. It might be said that Miss Nellie Adams was not the type of woman that most men would choose for a wife. She was smart and practical, two traits that were not highly prized in the weaker sex. And if she could curb her temper to be shy and sweet, it would not take the form of blushing and fainting weakness. She was no frail, hothouse flower to be forever shielded from the world, lest she wilt and perish. She had a mind of her own, and that alone made her rather undesirable.

Her dark, auburn red hair and rosy cheeks were lovely in their own right; but a far cry from the pale blondes with delicate complexions that were at the height of fashion. And her parents despaired of find their willful daughter a husband. And so, as they searched for a man with courage enough to take her; Benjamin and Nellie laughed themselves to tears at the foppish suitors that came to woo her. And he saved his pennies, waiting for a suitable house to open on the market. Surely then her parents would not, could not, deny him the pleasure of marrying their only daughter.

…

Mr Toss blinked, the flames in the hearth becoming clear once more. These were memories best left buried. Shades of a past that still had the power to cause him pain. While the ghosts of his beloved Lucy, and his tiny daughter, had been used to fuel a murderous rage- these memories had no such purpose. They existed only to torment, to hold up the mirror of his own self denial, betrayal, failure.

The dim light still flickered on the frame he had turned down. Red and orange in the cold grayness of the room. And Sweeney could see the face of the man, as clearly as if he had risen from the grave to stand before him. Rounded, protruding belly; a bald head framed by thick, heavy jowls; and loose, rubbery lips that seemed to wobble as he moved. And if the face of Judge Turpin had become the icon for all his anger- so to had this other become the symbol for revulsion and disgust.

Albert Lovett, the man who had proposed marriage to her parents. Whos contract had been accepted and signed before Nellie had even met him, or known that he even existed. Sweeney felt the helpless, hopeless rage clutching at his heart. In the silence of the sepulchre room, trying to push away the ghosts of memories that would no longer be denied. That had been held in iron willed manacles for so long; feeding off his failures and insecurity, exploiting every weakness until they had come to this point. With nearly a mind of their own, threatening the very tenuous, icy stability that he prided himself on. They danced in the flames, wreathed in smoke and ashes; mirroring the scorching and unfamiliar burn of tears in his throat.

Benjamin Barker had died drowning in his own tears. Sweeney Todd clutched at the worn cushions with clawed hands, and anchor against the terrible fear of succumbing to the same fate once more. Sweeney Todd did not cry; could not, would not- it mattered little which was the truer statement. One hand skittered stiffly to his waist, clasping the familiar smooth chased silver of his beloved razor. Thus armed, he relaxed once more- even knowing in his logical mind that the cold metal would bring no harm against his personal demons.

…

He had found her standing at one of the spots that looked out over the river Thames, swollen and quickened with the Spring melt. Her hair in the late afternoon sun was the color of hot coals, face a ghastly ashen mask. But it was her eyes that struck him, Benjamin would always remember them as the color of port wine- so dark as to appear nearly black. She had stared into the wiver as one might gaze at the face of a lover; release, relief, salvation. Hesitant, slippered feet carrying towards the edge. He had caught onto her tightly, wrapping both arms around her as if he were terrified that she would simply vanish into the foam flecked water below.

Bitter bile had risen in his throat at the thought that soon another man would hold her this way. She was _his _Nellie. The girl who had brought him soup when he was sick. Who had held his hand when he was ten, and he had asked her if she would marry him one day. His Nellie that he suddenly realized fit so perfectly into his arms, her head tucked under his chin- and when had he grown so much taller then she was? Benjamin shook his head, clutching her to his chest as tightly as he dared- morbidly aware of how close she had come to simply dropping off the edge, and the whole she would have left behind. And as they stood there in the fading light (and oh, how dark the following days would grow,) a plan began to form in his mind. Created of youthful hope, a young man who realized how easily he could fall hopelessly in love with his best friend. To Gretna Green, where they could be married. And save her forever from the grasp of Albert Lovett.

"_Come away with me, my love. Be my wife, my one and only- I'll take you away from all of this pain."_

The night before Nellie's wedding was warm. The air smelled of lilacs as Benjamin made his way down the street. His heart was bouyed with promise and adrenaline, a heady cocktail that left him feeling as though the world was suddenly his own slice of paradise made real. It had rained earlier in the day, and even the cobbles of the street seemed to shimmer in the wavering light of the street lamps.

He saw her at a distance- beautiful and pale in forget-me-not blue, tendrils of golden yellow hair falling into her sweet, heart shaped face. Standing in the glow of a street lamp, she seemed like an exquisite angel brought down to Earth. She smelled of clean linen and rose water, picking her out as someone who obviously did not belong in the working class district that he had lived in all his life. Lucy… In his ear, even her name sounded like music.

Benjamin Barker was a good man- but with all the arrogance of youth, believing naively that the whole world was in his favor, he turned away from the path he had been on. Lucy was lost, and it was not in his nature to let her simply go of alone into the dark. Leaving Nellie to wait by her window until every shred of hope had fled her. And dawns light came over the rooftops; the chimes of the chapel ringing like funeral bells in her mind. Her white wedding gown that she would have sooner been her burial shroud.

And too late did Benjamin realize the hour, and his own great folly. His pulse beat the passing seconds, echoing in his ears as he ran to the chapel. Guilt lighting on his heels, giving them wings, until it felt as though hooves of the Horsemen themselves must soon follow after. He arrived just in time to see the gathered people wishing the happy couple their best wishes, heaping blessings of health and happiness on the newlyweds.

…

In the dusty parlour, Sweeney Todd let the silver blade fall from nerveless fingers. Pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes, he didn't even hear the soft thump as it fell to the floor by his feet. The fire had burned low, the shadows creeping towards him like the damning, skeletal hands of Death himself. And in every whispered, crackling hiss of the red hot embers in the hearth; he could hear her lost, hollow and broken voice.

"_Not your Nellie anymore- Mrs Lovett now. Better you had let me go, Ben… Better the current than this."_

…

They had left soon after- the disgusting mass that was her bridegroom practically drooling in anticipation of the wedding night with his pretty virgin bride. Licking his thick, rubbery lips in such a way as to leave no doubt in either mind as to his intentions. That foul creature touching her flesh, performing acts together that Ben had little practical knowledge of- but which his imagination was more then capable of picturing, much to his horror. Even his very soul shuddered in revulsion, his conscience heavy with betrayer's guilt.

Autumn was turning the leaves to gold and russett before they met again. Benjamin had learned that the Lovett's were living in nearby Fleet Street, in the lodgings behind the small shop they owned. And nearly another two months gone before he had gathered the courage to face the woman whom he had once intended to make his bride. Now, despiteher parent's worries- it was Lucy who wore his ring upon her slender finger.

The world still smiled on him. Lucy was as mild of temperment as she was delicate and sheltered. So very different from Nellie; he told himself often that he enjoyed having a woman who did not challenge him. That if he had married Nellie, they both would have been dreadfully unhappy. For a while, at least, until the self deceit began to make him feel truly ill. And after that he refused to think about it at all. He and Lucy would be blissfully happy together. That much he had no doubt.

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I hope you liked it so far, the second part should be up in a day or two!

Reviews are my brand of heroin.


	2. Forgiveness Divine

Autumn in London was almost always a beautiful time of year, the leaves in Hyde Park turning brilliant shades of crimson and gold, the air filled with the bracing scent of woodsmoke

Hello ladies and gents, tis me again with the Author note. I had been hoping to get this chapter up yesterday, but I've been done over with a wicked cold. So it's a day late.

I do have something quick to say before we launch into the second chapter though- and it's something that has been bothering me and several other writers for some time now. It's the readers that add our stories to their Favorites list- but don't bother to take the three seconds and write a review. Personally, I think that if you like it enough to fav it, then you should like it enough to send the author a note- we work hard on this stuff! I don't really expect any of the guilty party to change their ways, but at least now it's been said.

**Dedicated to the charming Mrs Lovett, as always **(check out bleedingrubies./index.cgi for the Sweeney Todd rpg)

Suggested music for this chapter? _More Sorry Then You'll Ever Know _by John Berry

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It was so late as to be called early- the clock in the hall having long since struck the twelve chimed of the witching hour. But in the darkened midnight gloom of Mrs Lovett's parlor, heavy, moth eaten draped covered the windows; blocking out the stars and leaving the passage of time to be marked out only in the dying red coals in the hearth. Dawn's light would not enter here come morning- blanketing the man on the small couch in perpetual darkness.

Sweeney Todd, sitting still as a marble statue; eyes as blank and sightless as any patient in the wards of Bedlam. Staring into the realms of his own history, following paths only his eyes could see, passages no other human could follow him down. He had come this far, and refused to turn away now- refused to be defeated by the shades of events he had already survived. Memories of a man he could no longer be; barely recognized as someone he had ever been. And yet, he feared, the end of the path lead only to gibbering madness, not to the elusive calm that he had hoped would come with the death of Judge Turpin. That he had searched for in blood, and found nothing.

Nay saying voices in the back of his mind that whispered their terrible thoughts into his ears. That all he was, was a hollow shell, empty and echoing save for the gnawing, burning bloodlust. The anger and pain consuming all that remained of the man; feeding upon itself like the snake that swallowed it's own tail. Fifteen years of being driven by hatred and dreams of revenge, but what was he now? Now that he had nothing left on which to seek revenge?

The Judge and the Beadle were gone. Corpses that would molder and decay the same as any. Their blood had not been any hotter, any redder, then the nameless men that had come before them. And what now? Now that he had finally realized the driving force of his life was gone, the black fury that had kept him alive- now with nothing left to destroy, save for the man who had taken it into his breast?

What would Lucy say if she could look from beyond the Ether, to see the butcher her husband had become, been reduced to? And as his lips silently mouthed the question to the empty room- he knew the answer. Lucy, for all her loveliness could not have loved this man he was now. Would have fled the darkness that flourished in his soul, condemned him for what he had done. She could not understand it, not could she love it... Love him.

Could not have. Would not have- forgiven him. The truth was like a knife in the belly, severing muscle and tendon, tugging against veins, until it reached up and pierced through his heart. Cleaving through the ties that held him chained to the memory of his beloved Lucy, leaving the rest clinging for dear life.

The shadows now seeming a cover, a night cloak to hide his monstrous self. Sweeney stared at his own hands, shadowy shapes of a darker black in this place devoid of light. Pictured them dripping with blood, pooling in the hollows of his palms; like a man dying of thirst cups precious water. Unable to quell the thrill of pleasure and power that blossomed from his twisted heart, even as it sickened the remains of the man, the humanity.

And as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the image, Sweeney Todd remembered forgiveness.

…

Autumn in London was almost always a beautiful time of year, the leaves in Hyde Park turning brilliant shades of crimson and gold, the air filled with the bracing scent of wood smoke. Even the air seemed crisp and cleaner, the last of the nice days before the chill dampness that always came with winter. As Benjamin Barker entered Fleet Street, it became obvious that the charms of autumn did not visit here.

The air was scented with fish entrails from the mongers on the corner, the cobbled streets caked with mud from the sturdy carts that carried supplies and goods to and fro from the shops that lined the narrow street. The buildings were packed in cheek to cheek, occasionally broken by a darkened, filthy alley way. He had lived near here most f his life, but the last several months had so much been spent in the company of Lucy, in a very different part of town- that suddenly it threw the squalor and poverty of his own place in the world, into sharp relief.

Lovett's Pie Shop stood halfway down the winding street, the front windows edged in white, lacy curtains. The sign over the door was carefully painted, the front steps freshly swept. Even the tables of the outside patio area were clean, sturdy wood. The roof was an elongated triangle shape, made unique by the heavily slanted skylight set into the front slope. At a little after ten in the morning, there were no customers, it still being too early for the lunch rush. Benjamin stopped outside the door, reading over the Open sign several times. His guilty conscience weighted his hands, as he turned the brass knob and stepped over the threshold.

They had played together as children. Supported each other when they were sick, and shared equally in the joy of the other. A lifetime had forged their friendship into something he had thought inedible, something that would withstand the tests and trials of time. The sensible constant to his own wilder dreams, making sense of the confusion in his own mind. His Nellie had been there to push him when he feared failure, the first to sing his praises when he succeeded.

And as he stepped into the shop, he didn't recognize her.

Nellie had always been a ray of bright, bracing sunshine. And now, as he looked more closely at the woman behind the counter, he realized with a sharp pain, that someone; that Albert Lovett, had turned out the light. Her hair was covered with a rough spun brown kerchief, flickers of auburn red peeking out at the edges. Her dress was the same fabric, heavily dusted with white flour, a functional gown that was devoid of any sort of beauty.

A bell over the door chimed as he entered, and she looked up. For the first time in nearly 8 months, Benjamin could see clearly, without any deception, how such a short span of time could change a person. Her cheeks were hollowed shadows, dark against the waxy paleness of her skin. Her dark eyes surrounded by exhausted purple circles, one even bearing the fading green and yellow patterns of a black eye half healed. This woman was a dim wraith, and for a long moment he couldn't bear to look her in the eye.

And then she smiled.

Surprise and joy etched clearly on her face in equal measure, her mind not yet fathoming what her eyes told her to be true. And it was Nellie, not Mrs Lovett that dropped the ball of dough to the counter, sending up a cloud of four into the air. It was Nellie that rushed around the side of the high counter- and for half a moment, his Nellie that he enfolded into his arms. And Benjamin closed his eyes tightly, pressing his cheek against the top of her head and silently thanking God that she had forgiven him this much.

…

"I am more sorry then you'll ever know…" Sweeney Todd murmured quietly into the still parlor, slowly blinking against the darkness and the tears in his eyes. She had not turned away from him, never hated him for his failures. Though things between them had changed forever. She was now Mrs Lovett, and he, soon to be a married man. Her stomach had already begun to swell with the life of her first child; the purple bruises of abuse still clear on her skin.

Too much had changed, and too much that she could never tell him. And while he was forgiven, even the naïve Benjamin knew too well that some things could never be forgotten. And so they had become Mr Barker and Mrs Lovett, and he and his lovely young wife moved into the loft over the pie shop. It was, he mused, very possibly the only thing he had ever denied his Lucy- she had wanted to borrow money from her father to start their house in a more upper class neighborhood. He told her it was pride that wouldn't allow it- and in the end she stayed by his side.

Sweeney rose to his feet, stabbing at the dying embers and tossing on more dry wood. The rough texture was a distraction from the road his thoughts would soon carry him down- the evasion that had kept him alive through the years of his exile. A cherished denial that he was not sure he was prepared to part with yet; like a child with a favored toy. Lucy. His Lucy. The beloved wife of Benjamin Barker- and what existed behind his memories of their perfect marriage.

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Thanks for reading, I hope you all enjoyed it! And before you ask, yes, there will be a part 3.


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